


No Games Tonight

by AJ_Lenoire



Series: Avengers Fan Fiction Collection [17]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cute Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:58:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5284688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJ_Lenoire/pseuds/AJ_Lenoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How was he able to be this nervous? <em>Should</em> he be this nervous? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that it was possibly the most important night of his life. Yeah, that sounded about right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Games Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> So, after doing _over thirty_ prompts for a Young Justice Appreciation Month (check out my Tumblr basically any time in December) I needed to do some Marvel stuff to balance out the DC headcrush I was having. Enjoy!

In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have left his phone on vibrate. The image of a fully grown man in a tux, _giggling_ was not quite the angle he was going for – though apparently the Motorola flip-phone in his back pocket had other ideas.

He fished it out of his pocket and opened it with a practised flick of his wrist – Tony had almost had a fit when he’d first seen the thing, claiming “that thing is _ancient_ ” and needed to be destroyed immediately. He’d replied with a quick “I’m ancient, too. You saying you should destroy _me?_ ” For a rare moment, that had shut him up.

“Hey, Clint!” He said, already knowing who it was, thanks to personalised ring-tones and a caller ID screen on the outside. He heard the familiar voice down the line reply.

“Hey.” His voice sounded muffled. Bucky frowned,

“Are you... _eating?_ ” He asked suspiciously. There was the crackle of something – it sounded like a crisp packet, and a muffled _yeah, and?_ in reply. Bucky groaned.

“Where’s Natalia?” He demanded, “You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on her! Isn’t that your _job?_ ”

“One,” Came Clint’s slightly-less-muffled voice, “It’s my day off. Two, I’m hungry. Three, who says I can’t do both? Say hi, Nat.”

Again, in retrospect, throwing his phone across the room was not the best option. He took out a glass of beer and the phone itself thanks to _that_ nervous reaction. He grimaced and pulled his back-up phone out of his pocket. Steve had a ton of the things; the plus of buying cheap, old models (plus they were usually a little sturdier). That way, super-serum-enhanced strength (with or without a bionic arm to boot) had less chance of causing problems.

His backup phone was already ringing. It was Clint.

“Um... gotcha?” The archer offered sheepishly. Bucky cursed at him in German; it was a terrifying language at the best of times, and he knew Clint didn’t speak German.

“I thought you’d let her in on this!” Bucky hissed at him, “Does she know or not?”

“Well, I can say that _I_ didn’t tell her, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t find out.” Clint replied – most likely with a shrug, “But I got a text from Cap – typos aside, I think he picked her up.” Ah yes, the pretence of this evening was that she and Steve were going for a friends’-night-out, away from their stressful boyfriends – Tony and Bucky, respectively. “So, um, good luck.” There was a _click_ and the line went dead abruptly. That, Bucky thought, was an excellent summation of his situation right now. A _click_ and then he’d be dead.

Suddenly his collar felt too tight, and he was halfway through raising his left hand to pull at it when he remembered that that would tear the fabric, and he used his right arm instead. Thanks to Tony’s nano-sleeve, he didn’t have to wear gloves, but that didn’t stop his arm from being abnormally strong.

There was the _tinkle_ of a small bell, then. This was one of those cosy little restaurants that was all small and wooden and French and traditional. Electric candles burned behind frosted glass shields, bathing the whole room in warm, orange light. Bucky looked up and saw Natalia walking in, looking vaguely annoyed at Steve, who was loudly complaining about how “I didn’t _know_ it was nearly out of gas” and “I never had a car when _I_ was a kid” and all kinds of bald-faced-but-not-entire lies that Natalia could most likely see through in an instant.

But, credit where credit was due, he knew how to vanish in an instant. It was raining outside, so of course they had stepped in to the first building they saw – what a coincidence that it happened to the one Bucky was in! Oh wow! Small world! (oh please)

And when Natalia turned to look around the room (most likely scanning for potential threats) she actually _did_ do a bit of a double take when she saw Bucky sitting alone at one of the tables. She turned to point him out to Steve, but the Captain was already out in the streets again, running like he was in an _Indiana Jones_ film (Tony had made both 40s guys watch them about two weeks ago. Bucky loved them, but Steve, not so much).

Natalia twigged what was happening pretty quickly after that, and didn’t even try to chase Steve down. She only walked right past a gobsmacked, spotty, teenaged waiter and sauntered over to him. She must have known about tonight, at least somewhat. She was wearing _the dress_.

 _The dress_ was basically Bucky’s favourite ever piece of clothing he had ever seen Natalia in – well, to be more specific, favourite ever piece of clothing that was still decent to be seen in public in. It was a cascade of cranberry-red silk with a slit high on her right leg, a low back, and a single strap that draped delicately over her left shoulder. Just seeing her in it made him want to rip it off and—

 _Timeandplacetimeandplacetimeandplace_. He shouted internally, keeping his expression natural whilst he cursed himself inwardly. Whilst he was _very much_ hoping for something along those lines later tonight, right now was about romance. Not sex.

“Hello, James.” Natalia said, in a voice as silken as her dress, “Fancy seeing _you_ here.” There was a small smile on her lips; as deeply red and captivating as her dress and hair. She took a graceful seat in the other chair at his table, knocking her knee lightly against his (it was a small table) but he knew it was no accident. The Black Widow didn’t do _anything_ she didn’t want to do. She was entirely in control of her own body – except when he was on top of her, he liked to think; unravelling her like a dress and piecing her back together into the masterpiece she was.

“Small world.” He smiled, supressing a grimace when the god-awful song popped into his head. She smirked at him, a glint in her eyes – her one feature that wasn’t red, aside from her skin.

“Indeed.” She agreed, “So why _are_ you here? On a date?”

“Not exactly,” He admitted, smirking right back at her. There was always this cool to-and-fro between them in public, like they wanted to see which one would break down and _beg_ first. But they were capable of tenderness and sweetness, too. It was just less fun. But this? _This_ was fun. “Just waiting on a pretty woman to join me for the night.”

“Oh, then excuse me,” She grinned, “I’ll leave you two to your night together.” She braced her hands on the table, as though making to push her chair back and stand, but Bucky beat her to the punch – not literally.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He smiled at her, reaching over and touching her wrist – only slightly, only lightly, but he felt the heat radiating from both of their bodies in that touch. The electrical sizzle of contact. He almost dropped the ball, then. “You, ah, you’re a _far_ more interesting companion for the evening.”

“Interesting?” She raised one crimson eyebrow, “How so?”

At that point, he forgot the act – or, to be more accurate, he threw it away. It was now too tantalising not to bring into the real world; to cast off their little play and let the reality show a little. “ _I’ll show you later tonight_.” He murmured in a Russian growl, so soft that only she could hear (not that it would matter if he’d yelled it; there weren’t many Russian speakers in New York), and she only _barely_ managed to keep her control, but her pupils still dilated a little. He grinned internally, only a little mad at himself, because it was supposed to be about romance and not sex.

Then again, he’s heard that _making love_ and _fucking_ were two different things, and if you were lucky, you got to do them with the same person. It was the same principal, here. Sexually-charged-flirting and romantic evenings out were two different things, but he got to do them with the same person. It all fell under _love_ and that was the important part.

But then he remembered that Natalia was as good at this sort of thing as he was, if not better (she had had a lot more practice, what with not being frozen), and he felt his stomach drop in excitement and dread.

“ _Why don’t you show me now?_ ” She muttered back to him in Russian. He was less apt at disguising his reaction, and he had to swallow to keep his cool – or at least try to.

So he sat back in his chair and grinned at her; at once transitioning the atmosphere from _I will take you right here on this table and consequences be damned_ to _you’re so gorgeous I could stare at you forever and never get bored_. He was pretty sure it wasn’t faked at all when Natalia blushed at the look in his eye. Not that he wouldn’t have _loved_ to drag her off into some highly inappropriate locale, and have them take turns at torturing the other and forcing them to be quiet, but again: romance, not sex. At least not _yet_.

“I hope you’re hungry.” He smiled at her, now speaking in English. Sometimes he wondered if she loved his English even more than his Russian – he knew his grammar could use work, and his accent was a bit on the American side – because whenever she heard his Brooklyn accent, he could see in her eyes, no matter how hard she tried to hide it, that it melted her.

“ _Starving_.” She replied with a grin. And this was how much of their meal went. Pleasant conversation, rife with sexual tension and euphemisms (one of their favourite games: How Can I Make You Choke On Your Drink In As Few Words As Possible?), but still loving and caring; just in a uniquely _them_ sort of way.

When the meal was over and they paid, the rain had eased off, and Bucky insisted on giving her his jacket because it was still cold, and she looked so beautiful in the light mist of the rain. Their walk home was slow and ambling; he held her hand as they walked, and for a moment they weren’t the Soldier, or the Widow, or even James and Natalia. They were Bucky and Natasha, just a New York couple out on a date.

They went back to her place, because he was still alternating between living with Steve and living in the Tower with Tony (not that it mattered hugely, he did spend most nights at hers _anyway_ – though there was something terribly wonderful about having sex in a room with entirely glass walls, fifty floors above the general population), and they walked in like it was _their_ home, not hers.

“I had a nice time tonight, James.” Natalia said, handing him back his jacket and throwing her keys into the bowl she kept by the door. “Have a seat, by the way.” She added, gesturing to her couch, as she went off into her bedroom, presumably to change out of _the dress_ and the shoes that were most likely killing her feet.

He decided at once that he didn’t want her to take off the dress without his help, and only toed off his shoes and threw his jacket on her couch before following her into her bedroom. She was facing away from the door, reaching down to pull off her shoes (thus shrinking about two inches)

“I’d rather have _you_.” He told her, and she turned with a mild sense of surprise. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, arms folded, eyes raking up and down her body as though she were a meal. She felt goose-bumps up and down her body – but with no one else around, she didn’t bother trying to hide them.

He stopped leaning against the doorframe and stalked over to her; like a jungle cat and its prey. She didn’t move, a slight smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth. He was determined to wipe it away; have her begging him.

He came up behind her, placed his hands low on her waist, just above the swell of her hips, and pulled her close, so her body was flush against his. He growled into her ear in Russian, French, English and any other language they both knew. He said awful things, terrible things, _wonderful_ things. Then he ducked his head and kissed her, just below her ear. He worked his way down her neck; slowly, slowly, along her collar, and bit her gently on the shoulder. It took all of her self-control not to turn around, grab him, and kiss him senseless.

“James...” She eventually gasped out, but it was more of a whimper, “ _Please—”_ She never finished her sentence, because he spun her around then, and crashed his lips against hers.

At once she had her hands balled up in his shirt, frantically tugging it open, throwing away the already-untied-bow-tie around his neck, pulling him closer towards her as she moved back, until she felt the wall against her back. She shoved his shirt down his arms, still kissing him desperately, and the nano-sleeve followed soon after, until he was shirtless, pressing up against her, hands braced on the wall either side, the heat from them so intense that she thought she might melt.

He thought that too, but now it was his turn. He pulled away suddenly, and she whined slightly at the sudden change of pace. He kissed the front of her throat, then moved to her left shoulder, where the strap of her dress was – the only thing that was holding it up, really – and kissing her shoulder as he eased the strap off, and let the dress fall to the ground like a silk waterfall, pooling at her feet.

He almost lost it then. Every time, he almost lost it. Seeing her like this, so perfect and wonderful and all for him; _only_ for him. There were times he couldn’t believe it. This was one of those times.

Now it was her turn to play torture. She grabbed him and shoved him back against the wall, reversing their positions, and she set to work, clumsily, quickly shoving his trousers down his legs and throwing them aside.

They kissed again, and it was so much better this time. No pesky clothes in the way – save for their underwear, and they both knew it would not be long before that went, too. His arms were crushingly tight against her, and her hands were tangled almost painfully in his hair, but it was the good kind of pain; the sort that made everything better.

Natasha pulled away just for an instant, and barely at all. Their lips were so close that the slightest lean forward would touch them again, and they were breathing the same air. Bucky was mostly sure he wasn’t on fire, but couldn’t tell entirely; his brain was too addled. When had they taken off the rest of their clothes? Not that he was complaining; Natalia, either wearing every piece of clothing or none at all, was utterly beautiful.

“No games.” Natalia managed to gasp out desperately, her body scorching hot against his; he could feel her pounding heartbeat, now that there was no clothing obscuring them from one another. “Not tonight. No games.”

“I could not agree more.” He growled, and he crashed down on her again, turning so that she was against the wall. She got the message, hooking her legs around his hips. He wrapped his arms around her and that was all that there was to be said.

* * *

The wall, the bed, the floor next to the bed, the shower, the dressed and even, once, the windowsill. There was not an inch or a surface in Natasha’s bedroom that hadn’t had, at some point, a naked body pressed up against it – and that was just counting tonight.

But eventually they lay in the bed, for now sated and lazy and utterly content; too tired to suggest again.

“I had a really nice time tonight, James.” Natasha told him in a slow voice, tracing idle patterns on his chest with her hand. His right arm was curled under and around her, resting on her hip, his left was behind his head.

“Me too.” He replied, grinning mischievously. He turned to look at her, and his eyes widened with a sudden remembrance.

“I almost forgot...” He said, reaching over with his metal arm to grab his suit trousers, which were (luckily) within reach. He pulled them onto the bed and ruffled around in the pockets, talking as he did so.

“I wanted to do this at the restaurant,” He said, “But we were so busy playing around that I forgot. And then we got _here_ and, well... you know.” He flashed her a 40s grin that made her feel warm all over again. “ _Aha!_ ” he said triumphantly, producing something small and black in the silver palm of his hand. Natasha raised her head from his shoulder slightly; intrigued.

“Not exactly conventional, I admit.” Bucky said sheepishly, “But, then again, _we_ aren’t conventional either.” He flicked the box open like he did with his phone, and presented it to her. Inside was a tiny silver ring, set with a ruby.

“Natalia Alianova Romanova.” He said slowly, “Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

Natasha looked up at him with huge, genuinely shocked eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this surprised – _had_ she ever been this surprised? Her gaze flickered from the box and to James’ face repeatedly, as though she could not quite compute, and she did it for so long that his smile became nervous.

But just as he was about to ask if everything was okay, she’d grabbed his face and pulled him down for what he was pretty sure was the best kiss of his life. He dropped the box onto the bed, using his now-free hand to wrap around her and pull her closer to him. The kiss was fiery, passionate, almost hungry, and they broke apart after a minute or so merely for air. It was only for a moment, but Natasha managed to gasp out a single sentence before crashing back down on him again.

“Oh _god_ , yes.”

The next morning, thoroughly exhausted from a night of “torrid lovemaking” and “fantastic fucking”, they lay in bed for hours talking lazily, until Bucky realised the ring must have rolled under the bed. Awkwardly, he reached around for it, eventually producing it, still lodged in the open box, and slightly dusty from under-the-bed dust bunnies. He wiped it dustless on the blanket and Natasha offered him her left hand. He slid it onto her ring finger and kissed the knuckle.

“Nice to meet you, Future-Mrs-Barnes.”

“Barnes-Romanoff.” She corrected him with a smirk. And given what ensued after, it was a wonder they managed to leave the bed at all that day.


End file.
